The occupational hazards of Doctor Who marathoning
by Bunnyapocalypse96
Summary: Fifteen-year-old Lucy wakes up in the middle of the night to find two very out-of-place characters in her bedroom.


**Author's note: I've had this little plot bunny swimming around in my head for a while now. Thought that it may be time to write it down. Hope you like it! :)**

…

When I open my eyes it's dark. Really dark. Monster-lurking-in-the-shadows dark.

Whilst wondering why on earth I seem to find myself awake when I'm well aware that I should, in fact, be sleeping off a very taxing, very epic _Doctor Who _marathon spanning five days, I glance over at the alarm clock on my dresser.

Maybe a freak eclipse has broken out and it's really twelve in the afternoon. Who knows?

As I'm glancing, however, I realise that I'm not looking at glowing, green, informative digits staring back at me. In my dishevelled state I'm slow on the uptake, and only after blinking once, twice, three times do I understand what I seem to be looking at.

A face.

A—

_Weeping angel?!_

Just like that I know that I'm dreaming. Right?! Weeping angels don't exist in real life, much less do they come to visit sleepy fifteen-year-olds who, consequently, find them to be the scariest damn things ever. Nope. Can't be. That _is not_ possible. _Is not _real.

Nor is the next thing I hear.

"Don't take your eyes off that thing, Lucy," a voice to my right orders.

Not just any voice, though. Of course not. Hearing any voice belonging to a man, in my room, in the middle of the night would have been cause for worry. But _of course_ it has to be that voice. That one that doesn't really exist but, in my fangirldom, I find myself in love with all the same.

The Doctor's voice.

"D—d—" I stutter in shock.

Not that I was ever delusional enough (ha-ha, not that I _thought_ I was) to picture myself landing in my current predicament in real life, but I'd always pictured that if, and that's a huge _if_, I were ever to meet the Doctor in person, I would be able to play it off a whole lot cooler than I currently am.

Oh, who am I kidding? There's a fictional character ordering me around in my room in the middle of the night. I'm playing it as cool as is possible to play.

"Don't even blink, Lucy," he continues to tell me quietly, "Do you understand? Just stay perfectly still."

But I want to see, I think stubbornly. I want to see if it's _really_, _actually_ the Doctor. Not that it can be. Of course not. But if it _is_, I want to bloody mark it with my own eyes!

And besides, I don't let dreams dictate my actions.

I turn the slightest inch towards the point where the voice is originating from, ready to discern fact from fiction right there and then, and am instantly reprimanded.

"Don't look away!" he tells me firmly, "Do you _want _to be sent back to the twenties?"

Well—um—yes. That would be rather nice, actually. I've always wanted to see what the roaring twenties were like; jazz, flappers and all. And if, big _if_, any of this were really, really real, it wouldn't be too hard for the Doctor to just jump into his time machine and come get me after a little while, would it?

I don't say this, though, knowing that challenging a Time Lord, imaginary or not, isn't an awfully clever thing to do. Plus, I think said Time Lord is just about to save me, and all in all that's pretty cool.

"Doctor, I found the—oh, you're awake, are you?"

That, if I'm not mistaken, is the voice of the one and only, once again fictional, Rose Tyler. The madness continues, it seems. I again try to turn my head to see, for certain, whether I've gone full-blown stark-raving.

"No!" the two of them shout simultaneously.

"You just keep your eye on that, yeah?" Rose Tyler tells me, "Me and the Doctor will have you sorted in no time."

I heave a frustrated huff. _But_ _I want to see!_

The weeping angel and I continue to stare each other down and I think to myself that the things really are quite ugly in person. Their teeth are pretty sharp, too. Wonder why they need such sharp teeth. Are they secretly steak-connoisseurs?

Then my next moments are filled with watching as a wooden panel is slid in between me and the angel. It takes me another few seconds to realise that the wooden panel is my mother's antique mirror from the dining room. The thing is now also squarely blocking my would-be view of my two favourite characters.

"There we go!" I hear the Doctor announce cheerily, "That's that done and dusted. You can go back to sleep now, Lucy. We'll be sure to get your room back in order by morning."

Back in order? What had they done to my room that it now needs to be set _back in order_?

"Doctor," I hear Rose address him.

"Hmm?" he asks, "Oh! Oh right, yeah! I'll help you with that."

I hear the whirring of a sonic, and then my eyes close of their own accord.

…

When I wake up again, it's to see myself surrounded by normalcy.

My room is flooded by sunlight, but contains no Doctor, no Rose and no angel. Only my mother's mirror remains, propped up against the side of my bed as though that's exactly where it belongs.

I feel an impending sense of disappointment. It had all been a dream after all.

I quickly shrug the feeling off, thinking myself silly for believing otherwise in the first place. Of course it hadn't been real. Am I really so childish to think that fictional characters could come to life like that? Don't be stupid.

I get out of bed and start heading off to the kitchen for some coffee. After the "events" of the previous evening, I think I may need it. Maybe something stronger as well.

Then I stop in the doorway mid-stride.

I hear the sound of a TARDIS engine grating in the distance.


End file.
